


The Case of the German Serpent in English Waters

by 1TitanGirl



Series: Mysteries & Monsters [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But only a little, Crossover, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Family Secrets, Fight me on that, Ghost Mary Watson, Ghost Peggy Carter, HYDRA is everywhere, Happy Ending, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Couple, Plot Twists, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is Rosies's papa, Well almost everyone, if you read this, there will be angst, you have signed up for a feels trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-18 14:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1TitanGirl/pseuds/1TitanGirl
Summary: The day started off like any other day. Sherlock busy attempts to cure his boredom, Mrs. Hudson attempting to find out why there is a duck on the stairwell, Rosamund napping, and John walking in already done with Sherlock’s hi-jinks before he’s even asked what’s going on. See? Normal. Except the day would end anything but normal. With night fallen, it becomes a race against the clock when someone goes missing. Secrets will be revealed, relationships tested, and forgotten enemies are not so forgotten. One thing is for certain: Team Sherlocked is in for one hell of a fight.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings Civilians! One of your (hopefully) soon to be favorite super writing heroes here, 1TitanGirl! And welcome to my first official fanfic! I've written in the past, but never published. My girlfriend and I got talking last night and this morning about this idea. I just had to write it up! This prologue is in Sherlock's perspective. Currently, this is the only chapter I have planned to be formatted like this. Anyhoot! Let me know what you guys think!!

_Sherlock POV_

I remember the first time I saw **him**.

Of course, I had been told stories of **him** by my grandmother. Then again, you cannot have someone like my grandmother and not be told truly amazing stories of things she did in her youth. That’s just who my grandmother.. was…

She was a spy. **He** was a soldier.

My grandmother loved my grandfather. Of that, I am certain. But there is a rather annoying sentiment that my land lady likes to remind me of practically daily: you never forget your first love. The way my grandmother talked, it was clear she was still as smitten with **him** as the day they met.

She was practical.

There is no doubt that my grandmother was stark raving mad. Who else teaches a 5 year old boy how to shoot a bottle off of a fence? She gave my 20 year old cousin her first thigh holster. She gave my 18 year old brother his first hidden pistol. She helped design the prison my poor sister was sent to at age 10. And what of me? What did she give me? She gave me the training my cousin vied for. She told me the stories my brother was too proud to listen to. She built the palace of my mind that my sister tried to burn down. And she gave me my first case when I was 11.

She was gone. **He** was not.

I remember the diagnosis. I confirmed it before she even went to the doctor. I helped get her into the home she went to in DC. I visited her, in secret, when I could. I remember the day she passed. The morning was rather slow and gray. Not yet rainy, but one could tell it was going to happen. I was about to suggest going out for lunch when my cousin called. Gone. In her sleep. The funeral would be in London in a few days. I went and stayed in the shadows. No one there knew I was her grandson anyway. My brother of course went. But he didn’t let on to anyone his true relation to her. I watched as everyone filed out. Everyone but **him**. I watched as a red haired woman approached **him**. She promptly left, clearly upset by **his** choice not to follow her. My cousin found me, watching **him**. She told me not to be resentful. That **he** was a good man. One look told me that she was as infatuated with **him** as grandmother was. I waved her off in favor of watching. I never approached **him** , simply watched. In that moment, I watched **him** break down. **He** was just a soldier again. Just as she was a spy.

Just as I am the sleuth in the deerstalker.


	2. Why is there a Duck in the Stairwell?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another normal day at 221B Baker Street. Or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings Civilians! Wow! Almost 60 hits on this already! Man, you guys must really like a good prologue. Thank you guys so much! I wanted to say a quick few things. This fic is going to start off Sherlock heavy. Don't worry! Cap and crew will be a big part of this story. I might tag this work with the slow burn tag depending on how many chapters it takes to introduce them. I am going to try and post at least one chapter a day. We shall see how that works out with my personal life and what not. Don't be afraid to leave me comments! I love all sorts of feedback! The only comments I will not tolerate are hateful ones. Constructive criticism is fine, blatantly mean or derogatory are not tolerated. Don't like my pairings, well, then you can hit the bricks. (kudos if you know that song reference :D ) Seriously, if you aren't a fan of my ships, then feel free to not read. I don't mind, everyone has their ships. Mine just happen to be as gay as me! XD Anyhoot! Love you guys! Stay super classy!

Morning in the London flat of 221B Baker Street was anything but normal. But to the residents, it was normal. The front door opened into the flat. In walked the older land lady known as Mrs. Hudson. “Sherlock Holmes! Why is there a duck in the stairwell?!”

Almost on que, the sounds of a duck quacking and making its way into the flat are heard. As for Sherlock? Well he was currently in his pants and dressing gown in the kitchen. The table is covered in papers, different beakers full of different pills and colored liquids, and different fabrics and pillows. Rosie Watson is fast asleep in her highchair at the end of the table. It appears that Sherlock is studying her while taking notes in a small leather bound notebook. “Not now Mrs. Hudson.”

Mrs. Hudson huffs and throws her hands up. “Oh honestly! How does your boyfriend put up with you?”

Sherlock, for his part, says nothing. He just continues to take notes. After all, why waste energy answering a rhetorical question when he has more important things to do? It was in these musings that Dr. John Watson walked into the flat he and Rosie share with Sherlock. He smiles and hands Mrs. Hudson a new car magazine and a cardboard cup full of tea from the little shop down the road she loves. She takes them a smile and jab to Sherlock. John sets the bag of pastries and coffees down on a side table. Just as he does so, the duck quacks on the floor next to him. “Oh geez! Sherlock, why is there a duck here?”

The duck quacks again but this time it farts as well. It seems to be enough to draw Sherlock out of his notes. He blinks a couple of times and looks down. “Mrs. Hudson, why is there a duck here?”

Mrs. Hudson throws her hands in the air with an angry huff. “That’s what I was bloody asking you!”

John sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get rid of it. Unless you’ve done something to it and just don’t remember?”

“Knowing our Sherlock, that’s a yes. Check your notes Sherlock!”

Sherlock grumbles angrily while searching his notes. Honestly, who were they to interrupt his important scientific progress? “Oh right. The duck swallowed the Duchess of Cambridge’s missing diamond wedding ring.”

He returns to making a meticulous diagram in his notes. Mrs. Hudson steps away from the quacking duck. John tries not to laugh as he speaks. “So.. we are essentially waiting for it to poo? You’re cleaning it up.”

“Not exactly. I’m waiting for the vet to arrive. If the vet does not remove it, the bird dies. I am told that the duck is a favorite of Princess Charlotte. Said girl had the shiny ring when it inevitably fell from mommy’s vanity one morning. She went and played with her pet duck after breakfast. While feeding her precious duck, the ring went with the seed.”

John utters a sigh. He goes to speak when the doorbell downstairs rings. Mrs. Hudson picks the duck up in her free arm. “That would be the vet I suppose. Imagine, me carrying a piece of royalty!”

Her laughter can be heard even after the door closes. “The elderly really are fascinating creatures,” muses Sherlock, who has gone back to his diagram making. John makes a sound of agreement as he leans on the kitchen doorway to stare at Sherlock. “What is it you need John? Rather busy trying to cure the common cold. I think I almost have it.”

“Sherlock, do you remember what we were supposed to do an hour ago?”

Now that catches Sherlock’s attention. _Was_ there something he should have been doing an hour ago? Was it a meeting with Lestrade to get a new case? No, the duck currently having a ring extracted from its stomach is his latest case. Were they to meet Mycroft somewhere? No, he would have definitely classified that as important so as to remember to not go. They certainly are not expecting any clients due to the afore mentioned duck. Sherlock was, for once, clueless as to what he had forgotten to do. As he looks up from his notebook, he spots Mary Watson in all her horrid button-up spectral glory, leaning against the counter across from him. She somehow manages to look amused AND disappointed at the same time. “You really messed this one up Sherlock. He may not look it, but I can tell John is angry. Well go on! Check your notes!”

With a slight nod, Sherlock flips through the notebook in his hand to find his appointments schedule. He knows what he forgot to do an hour ago. Mary is right, John’s no doubt angry with Sherlock. He looks up from his notebook once again and sighs. Of course Mary would disappear when Sherlock has to face an angry John. “It appears that I have missed our lunch date. Probably for the best really. You always say you hate going out anyway. Something about the press catching on to our private lives? Anyway, curing the common cold is a much better use of my time.”

If Sherlock weren’t so terrible with people, he might have realized that was not the right thing to say to John. However, John wasn’t angry anymore. He. Was. LIVID. “Yes, but ONCE in a while would be bloody nice! One lunch will not clue the press in on our real relationship. I should have never left you alone this morning. You ALWAYS experiment when you’re bored! And when that happens, you BARELY pay attention to what’s happening around you. Well fine. Call me when you’ve found your ‘cure’ TO A **VIRUS**!”

John angrily leaves the flat, slamming the door behind him. The loud yelling from her father and slamming of the door are enough to wake up Rosie from her snooze in her highchair. The one year old blinks sleepily and stares at Sherlock, almost like she’s asking what’s happened. Sherlock sighs and stares back at her with a slight smirk. “Don’t worry, your dad is just upset with me. He’ll be back in 3, 2, 1.”

The door opens again and John walks back in. He’s clearly still very pissed off. John walks right past Sherlock and grabs Rosie from her highchair. “I’m not leaving her here with you!” he exclaims as he walks out of the flat, slamming the door once again.

As Sherlock frowns at the now empty highchair, Mary decides to appear again. This time, she is sitting in the chair next to the highchair. She gives Sherlock a look of curiosity bordering on disbelief. “Really Sherlock? The common cold? Why not say you were trying to find a way for humans to get to Jupiter?”

Sherlock levels her with a glare. “Don’t be daft Mary. I wouldn’t be in this mess if John had believed me when I told him she had caught a cold. Not that is matters. 3, 2, 1.”

The cries of little Rosie are heard coming back up the stairs. The door opens quietly this time and closes just the same. With Mary gone again, Sherlock turns towards the doorway just as John appears holding a screaming Rosie. John’s demeanor is now one of annoyance more than anger. “Damn it Sherlock! Stop predicting me!”

The way John’s eyebrow twitched while he said that through gritted teeth was rather comical to Sherlock. It briefly reminded him of a character in one of those cartoons his parents used to try and get the Holmes siblings to watch as children. It was a fond memory, one that brought a faint smile to his face. Sherlock walks over to John and easily grabs the infant from him. “Why? It’s so much fun.”

Sherlock turns around and walks over to the highchair, setting Rosie into it. Almost as soon as she is placed in it, she falls back asleep. Sherlock turns back to John with a look of triumph on his face. John, however, is gaping like fish. “H-how did you do that?!”

“As I told you yesterday, she has developed a cold. As such, through trial and error, I have achieved the perfect comfort and temperature regulation to keep her happy. I am attempting to transfer said attributes to her crib.”

Sherlock shows his notebook to John. The list of best medicine combinations for her symptoms, the best outfit choices to keep her temperature level, and of course his precise diagrams of different choices of pillow, blanket, and soft toy choices for the crib. It’s all there. John scans it briefly and nods. Still a bit annoyed, he crosses his arms. Sherlock notices his posture and quirks a brow. “You always say she comes first. So I followed your wishes. Though I suppose I should have texted you.”

John uncrosses his arms and sighs in relief. A small loving smile appears on his face. He reaches up and gives Sherlock a quick peck. “That would have been lovely, yeah.”

Sherlock smiles at John and pulls him into a bit of a longer kiss. Mrs. Hudson was right, how did this amazing man put up with Sherlock? Sherlock certainly felt that he didn’t deserve John as a friend, much less as his boyfriend. In that moment, Sherlock is reminded of the small, yet infinitely heavy, weight in his dressing gown pocket. For once, an army of butterflies has made themselves at home in Sherlock’s stomach. As the kiss ends, he has to fight down the blush threatening to appear on his face. John looks at him lovingly. “Do you need me to get you anything?”

Right, Sherlock had to keep John busy so he could finish coordinating the final touches for tonight. It had to be perfect. Even if tonight didn’t end up being _the_ night, John still deserved an absolutely wonderful evening out after Sherlock’s lunch blunder. So how else does he get rid of John? “Yes actually. A case, a client, something! I’m absolutely bored now that I’ve solved the common cold.”

Of course, Sherlock wasn’t _actually_ bored. Not with everything he still had to do. But John couldn’t know that. Speaking of, John actually sighs a bit sad. “Fine.”

John leaves the kitchen and heads to the door. Sherlock frowned. No, that won’t do. He can’t have John thinking he’s not wanted again. Sherlock quickly makes it to the door before John can leave the flat. He sighs, “One more thing, be back here by 5 o’clock. I didn’t want to tell you, but I made us dinner reservations for 6.”

John perks up and looks at Sherlock for moment. He reaches up and kisses Sherlock soundly before leaving with promises of stay in touch and being back in time.

~. _ .~

By the time Sherlock had dressed, finished his diagrams, made his calls to check everything was ready, and actually modified Rosie’s crib to both of their liking, night had fallen on London. Having been crouching to finish securing things to the crib, Sherlock stands and stretches. He checks everything over again before going over to the highchair he brought into the bedroom. He lifts out Rosie and kisses her belly without even thinking about it. For her part, she squeals with laughter. Sherlock smiles at the girl. “Alright Miss Rosie, time to give you a lukewarm bath and then bed time.”

As Sherlock turns and walks towards the loo, Rosie giggles and tries to speak. “pa…. pa….”

At that, Sherlock stops walking. He blinks a couple of times and looks at her with slightly wide eyes. “Did.. Did you just..?”

She grins and claps her hands together. “pa..pa.. papa.. papa. Papa! PAPA!”

Sherlock laughs and kisses her little cheeks. He spins around a bit. Once he stops spinning, a devious grin crosses his face. “John is going to be so upset. OH JOHN!”

He walks towards the living room, calling out for John. When he can’t find John, he blinks in surprise. Mary is sitting in John’s chair with a worried look on her face. “John isn’t here. He didn’t come home.”

“What do you mean he didn’t come home? Surely he had to. It’s,” Sherlock checks the time on his watch and sighs, “It’s 7 o’clock. Damn. Maybe he got mad at me again?”

Mary shakes her head and stands up. “You and I both know that John would have come back here, even if it was to tell you he was mad at you and leave again. Think Sherlock: when was the last time you heard from him?”

Sherlock looks at her and thinks. It _had_ been quite some time since his phone had chimed. He pulled his phone out and checked. The last message John had sent him was at half past 3. “Before you panic, call him. It could be nothing.”

“But it has to be something.”

Sherlock calls John. It rings and rings but never answers. Panic starts to creep in now as Sherlock calls again. This time, the phone answers. The sound of a loud clatter is heard. Just as Sherlock is about to speak, a gruff cockney voice is heard speaking. “OI! BOYS! Lookie who woke up?”

The sounds of muffled screaming followed by something heavy being dragged away are heard. Sherlock’s blood runs ice cold. The same voice is heard again, but this time closer. “Aww. Tha little bugger thought ta hide his phone. Bet it’s his missus on tha line!”

As the sound of laughter fills the air around the speaker, Sherlock grits his teeth. When he speaks, his voice sounds completely different. It’s deeper and rougher. He covers Rosie’s ears. “OI! Do I sound like a bleedin woman?! Where’s ma mate?!”

“Your mate eh? He’s good as gone, that’s where.”

The line goes as dead as Sherlock feels. His phone falls to the floor.


	3. This is now Top Priority

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock is ticking after Sherlock's bone chilling phone call. He knows he cannot find John on his own. Knowing every second counts, Sherlock turns to the only person with the resources to help he trusts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings Civilians! Firstly, I want to apologies for not posting yesterday. It was my 2 year anniversary with my girlfriend. We spent the day gaming and watching movies. But I am back! Yay! So as some of you have probably noticed, I am actually trying to use British slang. Fun fact, I worked for a Renaissance Faire for two years. Combine that with the absurd amount of British YouTubers I watch and you end up knowing a lot of British slang. Anyhoot! I am trying something new for this chapter. There is a section that I found was dialogue heavy. So I decided I would make it it's own little segment. You'll see when you read. All you need to know is that Sherlock is in italics and Lestrade is in bold. Speaking of Sherlock, there is a bit right at the beginning of this chapter that is also italics. Those are Sherlock's thoughts running through his head. Oh! One more thing! Since I made certain character choices (*cough* Ghost Mary *cough*), I'm making this work the first part of a trilogy! So good new, bad news. Good news is if you guys love Supernatural as well as Sherlock, you are going to enjoy the sequel. Bad news is that you'll be waiting until this work is finished. Hope you guys enjoy! Love you guys! Stay super classy!

_No… This cannot be real. John could easily outsmart any ruffian thugs. There has to be a rational explanation._

“Sherlock?”

_Perhaps I simply fell asleep from all of the activity I did this afternoon? Yes that must be it! It would explain why I lost track of time. Then again, I already frequently lose track of time. On second thought, this cannot be a dream. The human subconscious does not have the ability to create dreams with such clarity._

“Sherlock.”

_If this is reality, then this must be a joke John is playing on me. No, John would never be cruel like this, even if he was furious with me. Mycroft, however, would have no problem doing this to me. That’s it! Mycroft must have kidnapped him again. But why? What purpose-_

“Oh for god’s sake. SHERLOCK HOLMES!”

Pulled from his rambling mind by Mary’s yell, Sherlock jumps slightly, causing him to stop the pacing he hadn’t even realized he started doing. Thankfully, Rosie had fallen asleep in Sherlock’s arms from his pacing. If one looked close enough, you would see Sherlock shaking ever so slightly. “Finally! I’ve been trying to get your bloody attention for five minutes! Calm. Down.”

Calm down? She wants him to calm down? How could he possibly calm down?! He glares at her and opens his mouth to respond when she holds up her hand to stop him. “If you’re about to say you are calm, don’t. We both know that would be a lie. I’m serious, you need to calm down. Panicking will not help. Call. Lestrade.”

With that said, Mary disappeared once again. As much as Sherlock didn’t want to admit it, Mary was right. Lestrade would be his best option. Sherlock quickly strode over to where his phone lay on the floor and picked it up. He swiped to his contacts and dialed Lestrade. Sherlock didn’t wait for him to say hello when the call connected. “I know it’s Saturday and you have a date tonight. I wouldn’t have bothered to call if it were not important. John has been kidnapped.”

~. _ .~

The cab ride from the flat to Lestrade’s office only takes 15 minutes. Unfortunately for Sherlock, the cab ride took 30 minutes because the driver had no idea where he was going. After arguing with the cab driver for 5 minutes, Sherlock begrudgingly paid the driver the full amount. With Rosie in his arms and the nappy bag slung over his shoulder, he makes his way into the building. It must have been the expression on his face that caused the few officers that were still there to steer clear of him. Rosie, of course, was giggling without a care in the world. Her giggles only made the pit in Sherlock’s stomach grow. She had no idea what was happening, that John would not be home tonight. Speaking of John, he was usually the one that stopped Sherlock from doing things like walk into people’s offices without stopping and knocking. That being said, Sherlock stopped and knocked on the door. Lestrade opened the door and was shocked that it was not only Sherlock, but that Sherlock knocked instead of walking straight inside. Sherlock nodded in greeting and walked into the office. He took one of the seats in front of the desk and set the nappy bag in the other. Rosie simply looked around in awe because she had never been in here before. Lestrade took his seat and pulled out a notebook and pencil. “What happened, Sherlock?

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “On the subject of why I’m 15 minutes late, stupid new cab driver. As for why I am here, I already told you over the phone. John was kidnapped.”

Lestrade tried not to look as skeptical as he was. Shockingly, this was not the first time Sherlock had been convinced that John had been kidnapped only to find out his phone had died. In fact, it was scary how regular it was for Sherlock to call and demand they meet at odd hours of the day and night. Though, something has definitely happened. Sherlock has never brought Rosamund to his office, not even when John was with him, and Sherlock never knocks. “What on earth makes you say that this time?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know? MAYBE THE BLOODY PHONE CALL I HAD PRIOR TO CALLING YOU?!”

Rosie clearly didn’t like Sherlock yelling. This meant that she was left whimpering in Sherlock’s arms. “papa…”

Sherlock’s anger instantly fizzled out and his attention returned to her. He kissed her head and pulled her to his chest, rubbing her back soothingly. “Sorry Rosie. Papa didn’t mean to yell.”

Now that was surprising to Lestrade. He couldn’t help but chuckle. After all, Sherlock, a father? That really is a hilarious notion. “Papa? John really leaves her with you that much?”

The look Sherlock leveled with Lestrade was as cold as the steel of the gun he was sure Sherlock had hidden in his coat pocket. Lestrade actually felt a cold shiver run down his spine. If Lestrade didn’t know any better, he would have thought Sherlock actually looked offended. “It’s far more than that Greg.”

**_That_** is what truly shocked Lestrade. Sherlock **never** remembers his first name unless someone reminds him. It all added up. The phone call, the knocking, being called ‘papa’, **Sherlock knowing his name**. This wasn’t one of Sherlock’s normal visits. This was serious. Snatching up his pencil, he cleared his throat. “Alright, tell me everything.”

Sherlock smirked slightly, “About John and I dating or his disappearance?”

Was he trying to kill Lestrade?! Focus, this is about finding John. He opened a drawer and pulled out a recorder. He turned it on and set it between them. “When this is all sorted, you and I are going to discuss your **secret** relationship over a pint,” Lestrade said before pressing the record button, “This is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, interviewing Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes about the possible kidnapping of Doctor John Watson. Time is 8:09 pm on Saturday April 7 th, 2018. Alright Mr. Holmes, I need you to tell me everything about the disappearance. Start with what led to John leaving the flat today, to you realizing something was possibly wrong, and then the phone call you had.”

~. _ .~

_Right. Well I sent John out this afternoon so I could finish necessary preparations for this evening. It was 12:43 when he left the flat._

**What were you planning that you didn’t want him around for?**

\- With a shaking hand, Sherlock pulls a small navy blue box from his coat pocket. He opens it and sets it on the desk, open side facing Lestrade. In the box is a simple silver ring with a band of tiny black stone pieces around the middle. Lestrade gives a small smile of approval. –

**Let the record show that Mr. Holmes has pulled out an engagement ring. Please continue.**

_I had everything planned. Even called a few favors in to make sure tonight was perfect. 6pm dinner reservations at The Five Fields. Then at 7:30 we would be at the new planetarium. Before you ask how I was planning on getting into the planetarium that doesn’t open until next week, as I said: favors. Then by 8:30 we would be at Speedy’s for dessert where I would propose. I needed the afternoon to call and make sure everything was finalized and ready for this evening. Rosie has a cold so through experimentation, I found the optimum ways to soothe her. I had to translate my findings to make her crib as comfortable as possible._

**Let the record show that Rosie is Doctor Watson’s biological daughter and Mr. Holmes, hopefully, soon to be daughter by marriage. Moving on, what led you to realize something was wrong?**

_By the time I finished everything, it was 7. I didn’t know it until after I couldn’t find John._

**If you sent him out, why were you looking for him?**

_Firstly, I asked him to return by 5. I only told him I had us dinner plans, nothing else. He hadn’t returned. I checked the time and then my messages. The last message I got from him was at half past 3. I tried calling him. The first call went unanswered, I tried again. Second time, phone answered. John answered and threw his phone, hoping they wouldn’t find it. Based upon what I heard, there were at least 5 of them. All dock workers. All hailing from London City somewhere. Young males. Judging by the background noise, they were at a rather large boat dock somewhere on the Thames. Are you quite finished? Or would you like to interrupt me with more questions?_

**No Mr. Holmes, that will be all. Interview is now over. Will pause recording and review to determine if claim is true. After such is done, will record my conclusion.**

~. _ .~

Lestrade pauses the recorder and turns to Sherlock. “I’ll look into it Sherlock.”

Sherlock slams his fist on the desk. “Damn it Greg! I don’t want it ‘looked into’! Whoever took John probably did it to get to me!”

“Sherlock, I said **I** would look into it. You know what that means.”

Sherlock deflates once again. He takes the ring and closes the box, placing it back in his coat. “Right of course. I should get back to the flat. Rosie at least needs rest. I should too, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“We **WILL** find him, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stands with a nod. Lestrade starts the recorder up again.

~. _ .~

**Having reviewed the story and knowing the character of Mr. Holmes, I have determined that as of 8:45pm on Saturday, April 7, 2018, Doctor John Watson is missing and has been kidnapped. This is now top priority.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it's obvious I watch too many crime shows/have some friends and family in that sort of line of work. XD I also have decided that the chapter titles are going to be phrases in the chapter themselves.


	4. Call me Houdini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 days is a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings Civilians!! Sorry for not posting! Sunday was Rusef Day, aka Wrestlemania day!! And I spent Monday writing my resume and trying get that ready for someone to look over and help me get a job. So I guess today will have two chapters. Yay! It is currently fuck o'clock in the morning where I live so I can't really think too clearly right now. Enjoy the chapter. Got any questions, leave em down below! Love you guys! Stay super classy!

3 days.

It has been _3 days_ since Doctor John Watson disappeared. Mary’s ghostly visage had not graced the flat of 221B Baker Street since she told Sherlock Saturday night that he needed to speak to Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson was not only worried about John, but she was worried about Sherlock too. She would clean up his messes, convince him to shower and sleep, and make him food even though none of it was her job.  As for Sherlock? Well, the common room looked worse than it did when he was fixated on James Moriarty. There were dozens of red strings connecting pictures of docks, ports, and private boat launchers to different places on a blown up image of the Thames River. Pictures lined every spare space of dock workers with scrapes of notes next to them or red x’s drawn on them. There were different print outs of boat schedules scattered around the floor. In the center of it all sat Sherlock Holmes, holding little Rosie Watson in his arms. Sherlock barely ate, barely slept, and the only reason he showered was because Mrs. Hudson would lock him in the bathroom away from Rosie. I was safe to say that Sherlock was borderline stark raving mad. In fact, the only reason he _didn’t_ go certifiably loony was because of Rosie. He may not have been taking very good care of himself, but he made damn sure Rosie was alright. They were always in the same room, unless Mrs. Hudson locked him in the bathroom. And it never mattered if he was eating or lost in his mind palace, if Rosie made even the slightest gasp, he was up and checking on her.

The whole of Scotland Yard knew how important this case was, and not just because it’s labeled ‘top priority’. Once a day, Mrs. Hudson would drive Sherlock and Rosie to the Yard. Mrs. Hudson would park, but never get out of the car. Sherlock would carry Rosie in his arms and the nappy bag would be over his shoulder. Together, the pair would visit Lestrade. Each day, Sherlock would pause and knock. And each day, Lestrade would let him in and tell him what they had, or rather **NOT** had. Lestrade would give him some more dock worker profiles and boat manifests. Sherlock would tell him his current findings. They would chat for a total of thirty minutes, an hour at most. Then, Sherlock would get up and slowly make his way out of the station. It truly was a testament to how broken Sherlock was. Anderson stopped him on the first day and asked if he was alright instead of taking advantage of his current state to say something demeaning. On the second day, Donovan called him ‘Sherlock’ instead of ‘Freak’ and actually hugged him, telling Sherlock to call if he needed anything. For his part, Sherlock would nod and give the correct responses before continuing to the exit. When Sherlock was out the front door, Mrs. Hudson always had the car right there waiting. Mrs. Hudson always spent that thirty or sixty minutes doing Hail Mary’s on her rosary while crying. Because really, what else could she do? She always made sure she was presentable when Sherlock was done. Every day, when he would get in, he would never mention the tear tracks on her face. Instead, he would hold out his hand and she would hand him her rosary. He may not be a religious man, but he would take any help and comfort he could get. So every day while Mrs. Hudson drove them home, he would continue her Hail Mary’s.

~. _ .~

Vaguely, Sherlock realized how dire things were. Mycroft, who would normally love to take advantage of Sherlock in his lowest moments, left his little brother alone. He may love to antagonize his little brother, but even Mycroft knew not to mess with his grieving brother. On the morning of the fourth day, Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock a letter from Eurus before returning to her flat. It seems even Eurus knew of John’s disappearance. Sherlock recognized the white stationary with light colored music notes he had given her to write to him if either one of them were not up to one of their weekly visits.

 

_Dearest Sherlock,_

_Firstly, I had nothing to do with John’s disappearance. I only heard of it this morning. I’m truly sorry. I understand if you cannot make our weekly meeting. Perhaps we can reschedule it?_

_With love from your favorite little fire starter,_

_Eurus_

 

Eurus only ever signed letters with the phrase ‘your favorite little fire starter’ if she used the heat sensitive ink. Quickly, Sherlock grabbed his lighter and held it carefully under the letter. Slowly, more writing appeared. Instead of the neat script from before, it was messy and clearly rushed. Whatever she had to say, she really didn’t want the guards to know.

 

 _She **rri** nf_o _rd_ **is** _co_ mpr _omis **ed**. G **u** ar_ **ds** _wo_ r _k **fo** r s_am _e_ **pe** _opl **e** t_ ha _t h_ **a** _d **Jo** hn _**tak** _en. L_ es _t **rad** e _**tru** _ste_ d _._ My _cr **of** t n_ **ot** _. Ir_ ene _t_ **rus** _t **ed**. _ G _et I_ **re** _ne._ Wo _rl **d** W_ **ar** _II._

 

World War II? Sherrinford compromised? Irene? This was making Sherlock’s head hurt. He needed a nice cuppa right now. And by cuppa, he might just grab a brew from the fridge. “SHERLOCK!”

Mrs. Hudson shouted as she ran up the stairs. Sherlock immediately turned to face the open door. Could it be they found John? “What is it Mrs. Hudson?”

“Quickly! Grab Rosie and come downstairs! The tellie has a story I think you’ll be interested in.”

With that said, Mrs. Hudson raced down the stairs again. Without a second thought, Sherlock grabbed Rosie from her playmate and hurried down the stairs. He burst into her flat in record time. Mrs. Hudson was staring at her television as a breaking news story played.

“We are seeing drone footage of the NSY pulling a dead man from the river early this morning. An hour later, calls came in about a crate having lodged into a private boat launch only a few houses down. When we have more information, we will share it. For now, back to you in the station.”

Mrs. Hudson clicked off the tellie and wiped her eyes. “I’ll get my coat and keys. You go grab yours and Rosie’s things.”

Sherlock nodded numbly and left. He was back in the flat with Rosie in less than ten minutes. He had Rosie strapped to his chest, the nappy bag over his shoulder, and backpack full of things he and John would need if John was found alive (passports, wallets, clothes, etc.). Mrs. Hudson ushered him to her car and drove like a mad woman. A police car was actually waiting at the end of Baker Street and gave Mrs. Hudson a police escort. Soon enough, they reached the scene. As Sherlock was getting out of the car, he was reminded of Eurus’ letter. He turned to Mrs. Hudson. “The letter I got from my sister was very informative. If something happens, go to Lestrade. Stay with him. And whatever you do, do not trust Mycroft. But don’t let on you know you can’t trust him. Will you please do this for me?”

Mrs. Hudson could only nod and smile softly. Her Sherlock was worried about her like she was his own mum. It warmed her heart. Sherlock kissed her cheek and left. He strode quickly to Lestrade. “Is it him?”

Lestrade stopped his current conversation and turned to Sherlock. “The dead one? No. The alive one? Yes. Ambulance over that way.”

Lestrade points to an ambulance across from them and goes back to his previous conversation. Sherlock is overjoyed! He rushes to the ambulance, knocking paramedics out of his way. He climbs inside and gently takes in John. “Sher… lock…?”

With a watery smile he nods and moves the oxygen mask to kiss him for a moment. It almost doesn’t feel real. After replacing the mask back on his face, he takes in John’s current state. He is bruised and cut to pieces. Shackle marks mar his wrists and ankles. He is soaking wet and has a black eye. Yet, he still smiles. “Papa?”

Both of them blink and look at Rosie. It’s John who speaks first. “Did.. she just… say… ‘papa’…?”

Sherlock laughs and kisses her head. “Yes. She said it Saturday night. I actually ran to tell you but then… What happened John?”

“Got… jumped… Got thrown in.. a box.. in the river..”

“How did you get out?”

John smiled drowsily, “Call me Houdini…”

Sherlock laughed as the paramedics finished loading the ambulance and rushed the off to A&E.


End file.
